Statistically Speaking
by M. D. Jensen
Summary: Don drives Charlie home at the end of Sniper Zero. Spoilers and traumatized!Charlie. Please read and review!


Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs. Nor do I have the time to be writing this, hehe, but I am. Good thing I can really sleep through school and homework and still ace it. :) Ah, the joys of going to an academically unchallenging high school. Yes, I'm also well aware that there will be at least half a dozen fics like this one. Hopefully, mine'll be up first, but if it's not, oh well. As of right now, while I type this, there are no others.

_Statistically Speaking_

Like so many times before in his life, Charlie's words had come back to haunt him. In a different way this time, but still the same basic effect. _A man pointed a gun at your head and pulled the trigger. Statistically, you're dead._

Had it really been only a month or so since he'd warned Don of this? And now it was true for him as well. Statistically, Charlie was a dead man. So why was he sitting here, in this car, still certifiably alive? It couldn't have been luck. Mathematicians didn't believe in luck.

He was definitely alive; he was breathing. Loudly and raggedly, but that didn't matter. He was alive. Why?

Don glanced over from the driver's seat, then quickly back at the road. He hadn't said a word since they'd gotten into the van and away from the scene as quickly as possible. Charlie didn't want to tempt him, afraid of what he'd say if he did open his mouth.

Desperate for some escape from the silence, but sadly lacking in a pencil and paper, Charlie leaned forward to turn on the radio. He couldn't turn the dial, though; his hands were shaking too badly. He returned them to his lap, aware all at once that it was not only his hands that were trembling; it was his whole body. He pressed his head back against the seat.

Don reached over and switched it on for him with long, steady fingers. "Adrenal response?" He commented, without looking over.

"Yeah," Charlie said, acknowledging the phrase instantly. Then his stomach dropped. He could still feel the gun in his hand.

"Why'd you come?" Don demanded suddenly, his gaze still fixed on the road ahead.

"I told you, I figured out where the sniper would…"

"That's not what I meant. Why didn't you call?"

Charlie shrugged miserably. "I didn't really think of that. And… I kind of wanted to see you."

"What?"

"Make sure you were all right," Charlie admitted, sinking deeper into his seat and staring out the window.

"Well, it was stupid," Don told him stubbornly. Charlie bit his lip.

"Don't tell Dad," Don continued.

"I wouldn't," Charlie insisted.

"Good. Because if you did I swear Dad would get a gun and _he'd_ come shoot _me_." But at his own words, Don started, voice softening. "Oh, God, Charlie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that."

Charlie hugged his arms around his chest, drawing into himself even more. "It's okay."

The scenery changed from high way to American suburbia, surrounded on all sides by fast food in a matter of seconds. "Want something to eat?" Don asked casually.

Never had Charlie wanted anything less in his life. "No."

"Didn't think so," Don replied evenly. "Thought I'd ask, though."

"Yeah," Charlie agreed noncommittally. The light was hurting his eyes, and he covered them with a hand.

"Do you feel all right?" Don asked. Charlie could tell, not see, that he had taken his gaze off the road and leaned over to look at his brother.

"No," Charlie responded simply. His head hurt; his stomach hurt. And his damn hands wouldn't stop trembling. He clasped them together in front of his forehead, each covering one eye.

"I wouldn't have let him hurt you," Don assured him fiercely, although they both knew how empty that declaration was. But that wasn't what was worrying Charlie in the first place.

"It's not that, really," Charlie said quietly, deciding to verbalize his feelings. He took his hand off his face. "Remember what I told you during the case with the Charm School Boys? A man fires a gun at your head. What are the odds he misses? Well, you lived, and I just lived, and our family's bound to run out of luck in this regard."

"Okay, even I know that logic's flawed," Don replied instantly. "It's like that old IOWAs problem, 'the Smiths have four daughters already, what's the chance their next kid will be a girl?' We both know it's still fifty-fifty."

"We both know that problem is vastly over-simplified."

"Yeah, but you don't even believe in luck."

"No," Charlie said vaguely, reminding himself of that as much as speaking to Don. "No I don't, but if I did, I'd have to warn you, we're going to run out eventually."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Don's eyes were back on the road, but his focus was still on Charlie.

Charlie felt and heard the smallness of his voice. "What if you die next time?"

"That won't… well, I… then, Charlie, that sure would suck." Don decided. Despite himself, Charlie smiled. In that moment, Don had sounded so much like the indignant teenager he had been whenever his little brother talked him into a well-constructed verbal trap. "But I won't," Don assured him, sounding adult once more. The car descended into silence again.

"Hey look," Don said, after a few minutes. "Do you want to stay at my house tonight?"

"Why? So I don't tell Dad?"

"No," Don said seriously. "Because I know you, and you're probably going to have one helluva nightmare tonight. And you won't go get Dad, you'll just lay there terrified. Or you'll get up and solve equations."

"No, I won't," Charlie protested, "and I wouldn't if I did. And that's because I'm an adult, Don. I can take care of myself."

"The offer stands."

"Thanks, but I'm really fine."

Don glanced over at him, concern written plainly in the lines on his face. "You're shivering," he said quietly. Charlie was struck by the torment in his voice.

"I'm just cold."

Don opened his mouth but closed it again. Still wordless, he turned the heat on, even though they both know it was spring in California and perfectly warm in the car already.

"Thanks."

"Uh-huh."

Don took one hand off the wheel and rubbed it over his eyes tiredly. "Hey, Charlie… look, I won't tell not you to worry, because I know you will. But… don't worry too much, okay? I'll be fine. We'll be fine. We'll look out for each other, right?"

Wanly, Charlie smiled. "Yeah." He looked away as the view out the window changed yet again, from stores and shops to houses and lawns.

"Home," Don announced unnecessarily. "You're still welcome to---"

"No! No, Don, I'm fine." They pulled into the driveway.

"Okay. Well, do you mind if I stay the night here at least?"

"If you want," Charlie replied. The van stopped and he opened the passenger side door, swinging out. "But you don't have to."

"Not a word to Dad, all right?" Don reminded.

"Of course not." Charlie flashed a shaky grin, disappearing inside.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

2 am. Don lay on his back on the living room couch, one arm stretched and bent over his eyes, the other holding a thin blanket pinned to his body. Three hours he'd been lying here, and sleep was still an impossibly foreign concept to him. _Might as well give up._ Don grabbed the remote from the floor next to him and sat up.

Illuminated against the faint light kitchen's spider plant lamp was the thin outline of a young man standing with his arms folded nervously across his chest. Don jumped slightly, then relaxed when he realized who it was.

"Charlie?" Don called out.

"Don?" Charlie responded weakly, stepping out of the shadows and into the sphere of the room illuminated by the television screen. In the light, Don could see sweat shining on his face, tendrils of hair sticking damply to his forehead and springing up randomly around the rest of his head.

"What is it, buddy?" Don stood. Before he could walk over to his brother, though, Charlie was sitting hesitantly down beside him. His eyes were wide, with a combination of fear and hope.

"I…" Charlie winced slightly. "I kind of… had …"

"It's okay," Don soothed him, cutting him off before he had to say the obviously-embarrassing word. "I was going to watch TV. You can stay, if you want to."

"Okay," Charlie agreed sleepily. At Don's words, he settled back against the sofa and lightly closed his eyes.

"I'm right here," Don said gently.

"Okay."

Don switched off the TV to let his brother sleep uninterrupted.

"I love you," Don whispered. But Charlie was asleep. It didn't matter to Don. Just saying it felt good.

End

Hope you liked! The last paragraph was meant to be a sort of conclusion to the end of another one of my fics, Vincent My Brother. If you read it and actually liked it enough to remember it, you should get it. Update on Paranormal within the week!


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